Star Wars: Dark Force
by GuyWhoWrites
Summary: This is basically a Star Wars novel based on what could have happened following the Dark Side ending of The Force Unleashed. Also explores other, lesser told stories within the Star Wars universe. Please enjoy and review.
1. Prologue

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

**Prologue**

Darth Vader was nearby.

Starkiller could feel the powerful waves in the Force as the Dark Side radiated from the Sith Lord, as though he were the epicentre of a great earthquake, and it was enough to set the hairs on Starkiller's neck, arms and legs on end. Even so, he hurried on, running towards the door that he knew led to the Emperor's throne room. He had not battled a legion of Imperial soldiers, AT-ST walkers and the Emperor's personal bodyguards to run away now. Vader was just another obstacle to overcome, and overcome he would.

Starkiller stopped short as the door slid open before him. And there was Vader, tall, imposing, his black armour shining as it reflected the lights above their heads. There was the sound of a lightsaber activating and Vader's crimson blade was revealed. Starkiller mimicked him, his blue blade erupting from the hilt of his own weapon. The two men, master and apprentice, approached one another slowly, both looking for any sign of what the other's first move might be.

"I have trained you well," said Vader, his deep, cybernetic voice echoing off the metal walls and floors of the corridor, "but you still have much to learn."

Starkiller glared defiantly at Vader.

"You have nothing left to teach me," he countered.

Both men stared at each other for a second more before both acted. Starkiller leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding the powerful wave of Force energy that Vader sent his way. The cyborg Sith Lord reacted too quickly for him, however, and caught Starkiller in a tight Force Grip.

"You have served me well," Vader said, anger and hate clearly audible even in his artificial voice, "but your usefulness is at an end."

Starkiller remained silent, instead focusing on the Force. Eventually he was able to throw Vader off and landed behind him. He brought up his lightsaber to strike a potentially lethal blow at the cyborg's head. But at the last second Vader turned and blocked the attack. He was far larger than Starkiller and his mechanical arms were much stronger than any human limbs. He drove Starkiller back and took the offensive, slashing his lightsaber in great downwards motions. Such was the strength of his arms that he was able to put more power into his swings using just one gloved hand than an average human would be able to even if they used both of their hands. Vader might be weaker now than he used to be, Starkiller thought, but he was still a formidable opponent.

The duel gradually deteriorated to a stalemate, neither Starkiller nor Vader able to land a decisive blow. Starkiller had managed to score a few hits but Vader's armour protected him well. The only success Starkiller enjoyed was a brief moment in which he feigned a lunge towards the Dark Lord's masked face and caught Vader completely off-guard when he blasted the cyborg with blue lightning. Vader emitted what would, in non-cyborgs, have sounded like a cry of pain and had doubled over, dropping his lightsaber. Starkiller wasunable to persist with the lightning, however, and was forced to cease his attack only seconds after it had begun. Vader, the bacta in his armour and his own ability to draw on his pain and rage keeping him fighting, got to his feet, summoned his lightsaber to him, and leapt at Starkiller as he reignited it, closing the distance between the two faster than Starkiller would have thought possible. It was only through instinct that he managed to bring his shimmering blue blade up in time to block Vader's powerful attack, and Starkiller was almost knocked to his feet by the force of it. Swiftly he flipped backwards, away from Vader, and onto his feet. Not wanting to give Vader another chance to leap at him and fight on his terms, Starkiller charged toward the cyborg and their blades met with an ear-piercing screech. It was only audible for a moment, though, as both Starkiller and Vader raised their weapons and brought them crashing together again. Over the next few moments the sounds of the humming of lightsaber blades and the crashes and screeches when they met became almost rhythmic, as though Starkiller and Vader were performing some pre-choreographed dance. After a few moments of this, Vader broke the cycle, stretching out his free hand and pushing Starkiller backwards down the corridor. As Starkiller flew through the air, Vader calmly turned and walked back through the doors through which he had come to begin the duel. Once he had finally hit the floor and regained his feet, Starkiller followed.

The room that Vader had moved into was a carbonite freezing chamber. It was, essentially, a much larger version of the ones typically found on Cloud City, with a central platform surrounded by shelves of metal that served as catwalks and gantries. Vader was stood on the central platform, lightsaber by his side. As Starkiller entered the room Vader raised the hand not gripping the hilt of the weapon and tore down one of the carbonite canisters hanging from the ceiling above him. He hurled it at Starkiller, but the younger man managed to catch it and hurl it back at his former master. The canister struck Vader squarely in the torso. If it had been anyone else they would have been crushed by the canister's weight, or at the very least thrown through the air. But the canister bounced off Vader, whose armour and the Force combined had made him seemingly impervious to the blow. Starkiller used the Force to pick up another piece of debris which he hurled at Vader, hoping that the Sith Lord would still be recovering from the last blow. He was wrong; Vader caught the canister and tossed it aside. Then, without warning, Starkiller felt the metal beneath his feet bend and buckle. He looked up for just an instant and saw that Vader was using the Force to rend the catwalks. He was destroying all of them, save one, and Starkiller knew that he was fast running out of options.

"I will show you true mastery of the Dark Side," promised Vader over the screeching of the metal as it was twisted and deformed under the strength of his attack on it.

The only walkway untouched by Vader's assault was the furthest one from the door, underneath a small circular window that overlooked the Throne Room. With the aid of the Force, Starkiller ran along the buckling catwalks and gantries until he was safely behind Vader on the only remaining platform. A moment later, however, Vader leapt towards Starkiller from his vantage point and the duel resumed as fierce as before. Red and blue blades crashed together and hummed as their wielders moved them so fast they were blurs in the dark room.

"You will die like your father." The taunt stung but Starkiller refused to let himself be moved by it. He recognised that Vader was attempting to employ Dun Moch and would not play into his opponent's hands. Instead, he unleashed a short eruption of Sith lightning at Vader, but the Dark Lord happened to attempt to blast Starkiller off his feet at the same time and the two collided, forcing their originators into a struggle of the Force. Between two beings so powerful, such a struggle could easily decide the battle and it was almost certain that both would be severely weakened at the struggle's end.

Eventually it was Vader that won the struggle, sending Starkiller collapsing onto his back. As Starkiller regained his feet, Vader called down another canister from the ceiling and threw it at Starkiller. Starkiller was ready for this, however, and almost effortlessly caught the canister and threw it back at Vader, who himself caught the canister and tossed it aside. Starkiller took advantage of Vader's momentary distraction and, after deactivating his lightsaber, unleashed a powerful Force Wave which succeeded in throwing the cyborg back and causing him to fall. Starkiller then grasped hold of three enormous canisters and brought all of them crashing down upon Vader simultaneously. Had Vader not been protected by both his armour and the Force he would have been crushed utterly, but instead Vader forced the canisters off him as Starkiller leapt across the room and stood beside him, the blue shimmer of his blade reflecting off the metal surfaces all around him. Vader stood and Starkiller saw that in several places his armour was severely damaged and pale, sickly flesh showed. The Sith Lord's black cloak was torn to shreds and one of his boots had been smashed to pieces by the canisters. Starkiller could see a black, clawed prosthetic foot and guessed that Vader's hands looked similar beneath his gloves. Under the Dark Lord's arm there was a large gash that was leaking blood of a deeper crimson than even Vader's lightsaber blade. But Vader did not seem to be at all fazed by his newfound vulnerability, instead facing Starkiller in a pose that clearly indicated that he intended to keep fighting. Starkiller obliged him.

In a series of spins, Starkiller locked blades with Vader before distracting him, locking blades again, distracting him again and finally slicing at the exposed foot. Vader stumbled and Starkiller swung his weapon again, this time bringing the lightsaber down hard upon Vader, battering at his defences. Vader blocked the first two blows, but the second was too much for him and forced his blade away. The third took Vader's mask clean off, though not his breathing apparatus, and as his former master stood once again Starkiller could see a half-healed, deformed head, horribly burned and scarred, but set with terrible yellow eyes that glared at him with more rage and hatred than Starkiller had ever before seen in his life. Wasting no time lest Vader resume fighting, Starkiller threw him onto the superheated surface of the carbonite, but only for a moment. Vader screamed, and this time Starkiller heard something of the man that Vader had once been. Starkiller lifted him again and leapt into the air, spinning both of them as he did so. Stopping, levitating, Starkiller forced Vader through the window, back into the Throne Room, where he struck a pillar. The great structure collapsed as Starkiller followed Vader.

Upon entering the Throne Room, the first thing Starkiller heard was Vader's breathing. It was no longer the rhythmic, low, mechanical sound that Starkiller was so familiar with; instead it was broken, irregular and wheezing. His inhalations sounded weak and his exhalations were a screech as the broken respirator tried desperately to cope with the changed circumstances.

A voice that Starkiller had only heard once before reached his ears. A deceptively weak voice for one who was, he knew, unimaginably strong in the Dark Side of the Force.

"Yes, kill him!" Sidious sounded encouraging, even hopeful. "He was weak, broken. Kill him and you can take your rightful place at my side."

Before Starkiller had a chance to react at all, he heard a familiar voice cry out from behind the Emperor.

"NO!"

As Starkiller watched, the Emperor's electrum-handled lightsaber flew from the Sith Master's long, black robes and into the hands of Rahm Kota, his eyes white and blind but his mouth set in a determined line. He activated the lightsaber and its crimson blade shot out. As he neared the Emperor, Kota raised the weapon, ready to strike. But Sidious had clearly anticipated this. Completely calmly, took a small step backwards and unleashed arcing, forking purple lightning at Kota, who immediately fell and began writhing and screaming in agony on the floor. The Emperor pressed his attack and, as he did so, Starkiller saw his ruined, haggard face contort in anger and loathing. Starkiller was both awed and alarmed; he had heard the stories of Darth Sidious' power but had never seen it for himself. Such was the strength of the lightning and the power of the Dark Side radiating from Sidious that a wind began to be whipped up, blowing Starkiller's white Jedi robe about him, and the scent of burned flesh soon became detectable. Kota was still screaming and the Emperor still laughing when the dark-skinned and dark-haired Bail Organa shouted to Starkiller.

"Help him!" the Senator implored.

Starkiller realised that now he had a choice. If he attacked Vader he would be able to avenge his father, the father that Vader had robbed him of any chance to grow to know, and take revenge for his brutal treatment at Vader's hands over the years. However, if he went to Kota's aid he would miss that chance and, in all likelihood, simply meet an agonising death at the Emperor's hands. Once, Starkiller had believed that he would be able to defeat the Emperor, but now that he had seen the Dark Lord's power first-hand he knew that he had been a fool. The Emperor was by far more powerful than any other being in the galaxy, and Starkiller understood, in a sudden moment of clarity, that even had he and Vader attacked the Emperor together they would have been easily bested. He had now seen for himself that Sidious was as strong as the legendary Sith of the past – Darths Bane and Revan, Exar Kun and Naga Sadow – and he already knew from what Darth Vader had told him over his years of apprenticeship that there were few – possibly none – who could defeat the Emperor in a lightsaber duel. To attack the Emperor would be a waste of his life, and would grant him nothing. If he attacked Vader, on the other hand…

Starkiller leapt down to the lower floor where Darth Vader stood, swaying slightly as he recuperated from the duel that he and Starkiller had just thought. He looked up as Starkiller leapt down to face him and ignited his lightsaber once more, the red blade somehow seeming as tired as its wielder. His ragged, screeching exhalations were almost deafening now that Starkiller was this close but still the young Jedi pressed on, his blue blade humming.

Vader did not move an inch as Starkiller advanced. Starkiller sensed his former master's emotions and felt a swirling maelstrom that mixed fear, anger, hatred and determination raging inside the Sith Lord. Sure that Vader had a surprise in store for him Starkiller proceeded carefully, not wanting to be taken by surprise. Vader was, undeniably, severely weakened, but Starkiller knew better than to discount the Sith Lord while he was still alive; Vader was a man who had survived being burned alive through his willpower alone until Sidious had come to his aid.

Starkiller took only a few more steps forward before Vader's attack took him by complete surprise. A powerful wave of the Force sent him flying backward, landing hard on his back on the floor several metres away. Only the Force barrier that Starkiller had instinctively thrown up at the last second prevented his bones from being shattered. Vader advanced slowly toward him, his lightsaber poised for battle, the blade reflecting off the walls, floor, ceiling and great window looking out over space, his yellow eyes burning with fury. Starkiller leapt to his feet and charged at Vader, using the Force to augment his speed. He closed the distance between the two of them in just over a second but Vader was ready for him nonetheless. Their lightsabers crashed together, sparks flying. Starkiller sensed in that moment that even in their last duel Vader had been holding back, keeping something in reserve with which to surprise Starkiller should they have to fight later. He had always known that Vader had barely tried during their sparring sessions during his apprenticeship and that it had only taken a fraction of Vader's skill to throw him about like a child's toy aboard the _Executor _but he had never imagined the reality of Vader's prowess in battle. The Dark Lord seemed to be an almost indomitable force, even weakened as he was, and Starkiller was soon forced into full retreat, giving ground in exchange for his life. Starkiller was shocked by the ferocity and tenaciousness of Vader's assault; the cyborg wielded his lightsaber faster than Starkiller would ever have imagined his armour allowed, and even exhausted and struggling to breathe he was capable of bringing all of his considerable ability with the Force to bear against the younger man.

Starkiller eventually managed to duck beneath Vader's lightsaber and struck his own weapon against the back of Vader's exposed leg. It was only a glancing blow, however, and did nothing to impede the Sith Lord. Standing upright Starkiller immediately blocked a fresh attack by Vader. They locked blades, each pushing against the other, until Vader dealt a fierce punch to Starkiller's stomach. The hard metal of Vader's fist knocked the air from Starkiller's lungs and knocked him backwards. It took all of Starkiller's self-control to maintain his grip on the hilt of his lightsaber, which came to naught when Starkiller was lifted into the air and felt his windpipe being crushed as Vader curled his fingers below him. Starkiller mustered all of his strength and gathered the Force inside him, finally unleashing it all in a powerful wave which knocked Vader back. It was only enough to make him take a step backward but it served to break his concentration. Starkiller dropped as the grip on him was released and landed lightly on his feet. He summoned his lightsaber to him and reignited it before leaping over Vader's head, avoiding an upward thrust from the Dark Lord's red blade as he did so, and succeeding in slicing into his opponent's booted leg. Vader fell to one knee as the immense weight of his armour lost its support and Starkiller took the opportunity to blast his opponent with more lightning. Vader screamed as he had done in the crabonite freezing chamber and his respirator went into overdrive to cope with the strain of Vader's increased heart rate. When Starkiller finally relented, he sensed that it took Vader all of his remaining strength to simply get to his feet and reactivate his lightsaber. Starkiller, sure that he had won the duel, took his time in dealing with this most hated enemy. He built the Force within himself before unleashing it at Vader in another powerful wave. Had the wave hit any other being they would have been sent flying through the air for many metres, but Vader's huge stature and strength in the Force ensured that he simply stumbled back a few steps before collapsing to his knees. Looking forward to inflicting pain and death upon Vader, Starkiller advanced menacingly, aware that he was touching the Dark Side of the Force but welcoming it, embracing it, drinking in the power that it afforded him. Just a metre away from Vader Starkiller lifted the cyborg Sith Lord into the air and began crushing his windpipe as Vader had done to Starkiller only moments earlier. The respirator was pushed to breaking point and, hearing it straining to the point of malfunction, Starkiller relented. A quick death was too good for Vader. Instead, in a mockery of Vader's treatment of Starkiller aboard the _Executor_, Starkiller hurled him about the room, slamming Vader off the walls and floor. Vader emitted a weak grunt with each blow but lacked the strength to do anything to stop his tormentor. Eventually Starkiller slammed Vader against a pillar, forcing the cyborg to drop his lightsaber. As his opponent struggled to even stand, Starkiller pulled Vader's lightsaber toward him and, catching it, ignited it. He charged forward, blue and red blades a blur. He spun as he reached Vader, who had just regained his feet, and stabbed him twice, first through the chest with the red-bladed weapon which was followed by another stab through Vader's back as he fell with Starkiller's own weapon. Vader collapsed to the shining floor and did not rise again.

The ripples from Vader's death echoed through the Force like a stone thrown into water, but Starkiller paid it no heed. He had been a husk, more machine than man, entirely reliant on his cybernetics to move, to speak and even to breathe. He had been pathetic and undeserving of the mantle of a Sith Lord.

Starkiller looked down on the broken body of his former master with nothing but hatred and contempt. In death, Vader seemed smaller than he ever had in life. The loss of so much armour had much decreased Vader's body mass, and the yellow eyes that had always remained hidden behind the black, soulless mask were now fading, the life leaving them as the midi-chlorians of Vader's body abandoned him. Starkiller's knowledge of the midi-chlorians was limited but he knew that Vader had boasted the highest midi-chlorian count ever recorded by the Jedi Order – over twenty-thousand per cell. But what good had they done him in the long run?

Starkiller took one last look at the wreckage of Darth Vader, revelling in having finally defeated the man who for years had tormented him, and who had twice betrayed him, first aboard the _Executor _and then among the swirling snows of Corellia. The first betrayal had ended in Starkiller's own death, and Vader had resurrected him only to betray him once again when his usefulness had elapsed. And while Starkiller realised that it was the way of the Sith to betray one another in order to reign supreme, it was also the way of the Sith to ensure that their wrathful vengeance was felt by all who wronged them. And now he had accomplished this. There was no way for Vader to return. The _Empirical _had been destroyed and Starkiller doubted that Sidious would again want to take the gamble of rebuilding such a broken man as Vader.

Starkiller leapt up from the lower level where he and Vader had fought their final, furious duel. He heard a blast of energy from up ahead and, even though he was not looking in that direction, saw the purple flash that accompanied it. A few moments later the same thing happened again, this time accompanied by the characteristic high, wheezing, demonic laugh of Darth Sidious. Looking up, Starkiller saw Rahm Kota, hands bound, trying in vain to crawl away from the Emperor, terror evident even in his white, blank eyes. Sidious gave him a few moments before striking him with more of the crackling forked lightning, and the old Jedi screamed in agony. Sidious did not even laugh this time; instead Starkiller could see the Dark Lord's ruined face distorted with hatred and sadistic enjoyment. He walked towards the scene. Sidious gave him a cursory glance even as Starkiller felt, once again, the Force building inside the older man. A second later Sidious had unleashed another short, sharp blast of lightning.

As Starkiller drew closer, Sidious turned his back on Kota.

"Excellent," he praised Starkiller. "Lord Vader was a broken shadow of his former self. I knew that one day you would replace him." Starkiller took pride in the Emperor's word, even as he planned his final move in this endgame. "You now have one, final test," Sidious continued, apparently oblivious to the goings-on of Starkiller's mind, "destroy your ties to the Jedi," he instructed, pointing toward Kota, "and at last you will be a Sith Lord!" The Emperor finished his sentence with his voice raised, declaring Starkiller's future to the Sith of both the past and the future.

Without hesitation, Starkiller turned to face Kota, activating his lightsaber at the same moment. Yet, even as he looked down at the elder Jedi, he knew that he would not do it. Kota had grown to mean too much to him over the last few months. He raised his lightsaber, trying desperately to muster the necessary hatred and anger, but it would not come. Instead, he turned and swung at the Emperor, sure that such a fast and unexpected attack would slice into Sidious before the Dark Lord was aware what had happened.

But instantly, impossibly, blue met red as Sidious activated his lightsaber, reacting in less than a second.

"You have betrayed your master and your allies both!" the Emperor cried over the grinding of the lightsabers. "I knew you would betray me as well. And now," he said, his voice and eyes filled with the Dark Side, "you have doomed yourself and your friends!"

The next thing Starkiller knew was agony as he was hurled through the air on the strength of Sidious' Force Lightning, only coming to a halt when he struck the floor after a long fall. Rolling over, Starkiller saw, horrified, the bodies of Bail Organa, Mon Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis.

"No," he said, refusing to believe that his decision to fight Vader had given the Emperor the chance to kill all of the rebel leaders. "NO!"

High above him, he saw a faint movement and focused on it. The _Rogue Shadow_ had appeared above the Throne Room. Starkiller tried to reach out to Juno through the Force, imploring her to leave him, but it was no use. He could only watch, helpless to do anything, as the _Rogue Shadow _bucked as Sidious grasped it and threw it towards Starkiller. As the great metal craft sped toward him, all Starkiller could do was scream.


	2. Chapter One - Observation

**Part One**

**Retraining**

_Three standard months after the death of Darth Vader_

**Chapter One**

**Observation**

The _Lambda_-class luxury transport approached the docking bay of the massive Super Star Destroyer. The_ Executor_, future flagship of the Imperial fleet, was still under construction, but Sidious knew that already it was fully battle-ready and had the capability to reduce a planet to slag. It was among the largest of the Empire's construction projects, though it paled in comparison to the Death Star.

As Sidious felt his craft land, a smooth, gliding stop that the _Lambda _was specifically designed for, he stood from the cushioned sofa that he had been sat upon and walked towards the boarding ramp, which had already been lowered by the time he reached it. Eight of his red-robed Imperial Guard, each one an elite Echani warrior, as well as one of his Force-sensitive Shadow Guard, who was clad in a modern reconstruction of ancient Sith armour and wielded a red lightsaber. Though it was deactivated, Sidious knew that the man carried it with him at all times and that he was lethally proficient with it, as well as with the Dark Side of the Force.

Slowly, the Emperor descended the boarding ramp, the cane he carried reinforcing the image that he always projected of himself as a weak and frail old man. It was a part that the Emperor played well and had been playing for many years, and on more than one occasion it had directly resulted in his enemies drastically underestimating him. Sidious loved to shatter their illusions with a demonstration of his powers; Force Lightning made for quite the display.

In the docking bay there had assembled, as Sidious knew there would be, a small army to greet him. The gleaming white armour of the Stormtrooper Corps with the penchant of the Sith for dark clothing, but the Sith were far outnumbered by the Stormtroopers. Indeed, for the last six months, there had been but one member of the Order of the Sith Lords in the entire galaxy.

Sidious was aware that he was not the only being to style himself the Dark Lord of the Sith. There were any number of splinter factions and cults that claimed to be the true heritage of the Sith of ancient times, but Sidious was now the only Sith Lord of the Order of Darth Bane, which had been founded in the aftermath of the New Sith Wars almost one thousand standard years earlier. During the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, the final battle of the New Sith Wars, Bane had ensured the destruction of the Sith as they had been, a coalition of petty, squabbling warlords, while simultaneously ensuring that he alone survived. Alone in the galaxy, and determined to remake the Sith in his own image, Bane and his apprentice Darth Zannah had begun a line of masters and apprentices that had culminated most recently in Darth Sidious and his apprentice Darth Vader. Now, with Vader dead, it was Sidious' duty as a Sith Lord to find an apprentice who would, one day, kill him and take his place at the head of the Order. Sidious had killed his own master, Darth Plagueis, many decades earlier, and since then had reigned supreme as Dark Lord unchallenged by any of his apprentices. In this respect, each had proven to be a disappointment to Sidious. He hoped that his next apprentice, whoever that might be, proved worthy.

Knelt before him was one of the few on whom Sidious had bestowed the title of Sith Lord. Starkiller, who had been educated in the Dark Side by Darth Vader, knelt before him, his armour reflecting the plethora of lights in the huge, cavernous room.

"Master." As Starkiller said the single word Sidious heard the grating, metallic voice that his artificial voice box produced. It was a waste of potential that Starkiller had, through his own actions, made himself so like Vader. By defying Sidious six months previously, Starkiller had sealed his fate. The injuries he had sustained as the _Rogue Shadow _had crashed into him had been horrific, his flesh, muscles and organs shredded, his skeleton shattered. Sidious had considered simply leaving him to die, but he had sensed even then the power of the Dark Side radiating from the young man and had brought him back to the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Centre to have a cybernetic life support suit built to sustain him. Starkiller had awoken from the coma that his injuries had placed him in as the suit was nearing completion, being grafted to his skin.

"You had such promise," Sidious had said to him, sorrow in his voice. "You could have been my successor, my equal." He had meant those words. On seeing Starkiller dispatch Vader, Sidious had become convinced that this was the being who would continue the legacy of Darth Bane and be the future of both the Sith and the Empire. The young man's act of defiance in defence of the Jedi, however, had made Sidious reassess his views. The young man had been worth saving, but he had not yet proven to Sidious that he was worthy to be the Sith Master's new apprentice.

Today would decide that question.

"I would observe you train, Lord Starkiller," Sidious said, and he could sense the surprise in the young man. Starkiller had effectively lived aboard the _Executor _ever since his reconstruction, retraining in the Sith arts of lightsaber combat and use of the Dark Side of the Force. Sidious had visited the _Executor _on several occasions during that time but had always been more concerned with the progress of the giant ship's construction than with the cyborg's training. Now, however, it was time for Sidious to see for himself what the work of the reconstruction droids had yielded.

"Yes, master." Starkiller acceded to the Emperor's request, as Sidious had known he would. He was the Galactic Emperor; a request or suggestion from him was a de facto order.

A grey-clad officer stood nearby dismissed the Stormtroopers, who marched out of the room with perfect discipline, before Starkiller and Sidious headed toward Starkiller's chambers. This was where he trained and meditated. His armour constantly delivered nutrients directly to his bloodstream, meaning that Starkiller never had to eat. He also never slept, instead drawing on the Dark Side, as well as the benefits afforded to him by his armour, to sustain his energy levels.

The two of them entered a large, rectangular room, well-lit and littered with the debris of dozens of sparring droids. Sidious guessed that the debris was cleared every hour or so, and the number of ruined chassis was testament to Starkiller's skill and dedication. Even so, droids were only capable of so much, and in Sidious' eyes they did provide a suitable indication of what fighting a living being was like. Droids were incapable of the imagination that may, in the heat of battle, be the difference between victory and death.

Sidious stood off to the side of the room, lurking in the shadows. He had chosen a vantage point that granted him full view of the room at a single glance; he had only to look up to see the entire battle. Starkiller was stood a few metres from him, throwing his lightsaber into the air and catching it again as he waited for his engineers to programme and release the droids he would be training with that session. Sidious knew already that Starkiller's training regimen was rigorous. He would train for twelve standard hours every day, devoting the other twelve to meditation. Sidious was impressed with this, but knew that once Starkiller began to take command of field missions he would struggle to maintain his diligence.

The sound of a door opening drew Sidious' attention and he saw the first wave of droids appear. There were seven of them, each armed with a lightsaber and programmed with the ability to create a facsimile of the Force, mimicking its effects. Their blades hummed as they advanced toward Starkiller, charging him as one. The young man activated his own weapon, the red blade appearing with the familiar sound, and leapt over them, employing Ataru, the fourth form of lightsaber combat. The droids were programmed with reaction times quicker than any living species and as one they turned to face their opponent and successfully blocked his attacks. Starkiller never stayed still for long, however, continuously leaping around the droids and striking at them from unexpected angles. The droids were capable of extrapolating his most likely next location at any given moment, but Starkiller was capable of creative thought and Sidious saw that he avoided, if possible, putting himself where the droids would expect him to. Sidious smiled beneath his black hood, impressed.

It was seconds before Starkillr destroyed the first droid, knocking its lightsaber out of its metal hand and blasting it with Force Lightning, destroying its wires and circuits with the heat of ten stars. Simultaneously, he blocked and deflected the lightning sent at him by another of his autonomous opponents. The blue bolt ricocheted off his red blade and struck another of the droids, which met the same fate as its fellow. The sounds of humming and crashing were almost constant as Starkiller swung and spun his lightsaber about him, parrying each of the droids' lightsabers as they attempted to strike him. He decapitated one of them and, for good measure, ran it through. The droid collapsed with a metallic thud, sparks flying from its neck like a fountain of blood.

The remaining four droids closed in on Starkiller, encircling him, but Starkiller simply used the Force to leap away from them and land outside their ring. Taking the opportunity while he had a split-second advantage, he used the Force to lift one of the droids and hurled it at the opposite wall, where it shattered with the force of the blow. The remaining three all utilised different tactics against their common foe. One mimicked a Force Push, which Starkiller was able to resist with a Force Barrier, and was only forced back an inch or so. Another droid attempted to charge at Starkiller, who threw lightsaber at the droid like a dart. Guided by the Force, the blade hit home, impaling the droid before being summoned back to Starkiller's clawed, waiting hand. The final droid leapt at Starkiller and landed less than a foot from him. Starkiller was forced to exchange blows with the machine, which was now able to respond perfectly to his Ataru, programmed to learn as it was. Effortlessly, Starkiller transitioned from Ataru to Makashi, the second form of lightsaber combat and the one specifically designed to be used in lightsaber duels. With graceful movements, Starkiller easily defended himself from the lightsaber attacks of the droid, eventually managing to disarm it and, with nothing to protect it, slice the droid in two at the middle.

The final remaining droid hung back, its programming computer refusing to allow it to charge Starkiller. Unfazed, Starkiller took the fight to the droid, speeding toward it faster than even its reaction programming could comprehend. In less than a second, Starkiller had gone from his stationary position beside the halved droid to the other end of the room, the final droid falling as he rushed past. Observing the destruction, Sidious saw that it was missing both arms and its head and sported a hole in its chest where Starkiller's lightsaber must have penetrated it.

Sidious applauded softly. Starkiller knelt where he was, deactivating his weapon as he did so. The blade disappeared with a hiss.

"Most impressive," Sidious said, in genuine praise. The whole confrontation had taken less than a minute, and Starkiller had not sustained a single blow. His use of a lightsaber and knowledge of form was perfect, his application of the Force economic yet devastating. Vader had always relied too much on his brute strength to batter at his opponents, which had ultimately been his undoing.

"Thank you, master," said Starkiller in his mechanical voice.

"I would see you fight again," Sidious said, raising a single, gnarled index finger, "this time against a living being."

"As you command."

Sidious clapped his hands together once and a tall, heavily muscled man in the garb of the Shadow Guard strode in through the door. He clutched in both hands a long-handled lightsaber, the handle the same length as the blade of Starkiller's lightsaber. It was not quite a lightsaber pike, but it gave its wielder almost twice the reach of a regular lightsaber. Sidious knew that Starkiller was unfamiliar with such weapons and that he would have to think on his feet. Sidious was unconcerned. From what he had seen with the droids, Starkiller had responded well to the cybernetic treatment that had placed him in his armour and Sidious was confident that a living opponent would not prove significantly more difficult a challenge. He would, at some point, spar with Starkiller himself. But first, Sidious would have to be sure that he would not push the cyborg too far too soon. Starkiller was no use to him dead.

"End at my command," Sidious instructed.

Immediately the battle began, both of the fighters activating their weapons at the same moment. The Shadow Guard leapt forward and slashed at Starkiller, who in turn backed away, parrying the Shadow Guard's blade as he did so before ducking beneath the Shadow Guard's blade and getting inside the reach of his weapon. The duel could have ended then, had the Shadow Guard not managed to kick at Starkiller's lightsaber hand. It was a risky move – if he had misjudged his kick or Starkiller had moved his blade even slightly then the Shadow Guard would have lost his lower leg – but the Force guided his aim and he succeeded in striking Starkiller's clawed hand, green with necrosis and the taint of the Dark Side. Starkiller dropped his lightsaber, which deactivated as it fell from his grasp. But this did not disarm Starkiller. Calling on the Force, he blasted the Shadow Guard with a wave of energy. Though the Shadow Guard created a Force Barrier around himself to guard against Starkiller's attack the cyborg's strength with the Dark Side proved too much and shattered it. Starkiller summoned his lightsaber to him and caught it deftly in his right hand. With a storm of fury Starkiller unleashed purple lightning at his opponent, and though the Shadow Guard caught it harmlessly with his blade his momentary distraction was enough for Starkiller to pick him up with the Force and hurl his opponent across the room. Caught off guard, there was nothing the Shadow Guard could do to soften the attack and struck the floor hard enough to break bones. Sidious sensed concussion in the Shadow Guard and watched as Starkiller leapt the length of the room and landed by the Shadow Guard's prone form. He raised his lightsaber for the killing blow and swung it down.

"Stop." Sidious was quiet, but Starkiller heard him nonetheless. His lightsaber was suspended mere centimetres from the Shadow Guard's torso and Sidious could sense the anticipation in the cyborg and the all-consuming fear in his opponent, yet both men could still be of use to him. Starkiller had passed his tests with flying colours, and Sidious was now secure in his decision for Starkiller's future.

"Lord Starkiller, I would speak with you alone."

The Shadow Guard knew that that was an order to leave the room, and he hurried to obey despite the difficulty that his concussion added to the task. Eventually he reached the doors, which opened to allow him through. He crossed the threshold and the door slid shut behind him. When the sound of their closing had faded away, Sidious spoke.

"Kneel, Lord Starkiller." Starkiller obeyed, genuflecting. His head, covered completely by a part-Ubese, part-Mandalorian helmet, was bowed in humility and submission. Sidious had thought it fitting that his newest servant resembled the two groups who, apart from the Sith themselves, were the Jedi's worst enemies. Sidious reached out a single wizened hand and touched the helmet. "I confer upon you," he said in a tone filled with gravitas, so as to impress upon Starkiller the importance of this moment, "the position of my apprentice. You will be an extension of my will and the commander of my armies. You will lead the Imperial fleet into battle and wipe out our enemies. And ultimately, _Darth Starkiller_," Sidious felt his new apprentice's elation at the Sith title, "you will battle me for dominion of the Sith Order and the Empire. If you are strong enough, if you are worthy, you will defeat me."

"Yes, master."

"Rise, Darth Starkiller," Sidious commanded, and his apprentice obeyed, "and resume your training. You must be superior to all others if you are to hold on to your power. This is the way of the Sith."

"I will not fail you, master." Starkiller sounded confident, but Sidious did not share his optimism. Starkiller was Sidious' fourth apprentice, and although the cyborg was easily the most skilled and powerful of them all, he still had yet to convince Sidious. He would be watching his new apprentice very carefully. Very carefully indeed.


	3. Chapter Two - The Grand Moffs

**Chapter Two**

**The Grand Moffs**

Admiral Varis Serast marched down the corridors of his command ship, the _Dominator_. An _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer, the _Dominator _was a huge hulk of metal, more than one-and-a-half kilometres from one end to another, and complemented with dozens of AT-ST walkers, hundreds of TIE fighters and thousands of Stormtroopers. Armed with hundreds of laser cannons, the _Dominator _carried enough firepower to reduce a world to slag and had put it to use. Varesh, the only inhabitable planet in the Mid-Rim sector of the same name, had rebelled and Moff Ragid, the sector's governor, had been unable to suppress the uprising. Serast had been summoned by Darth Vader himself and given the task of succeeding where Ragid had failed. Serast had taken the _Dominator _to Varesh and ordered all of its guns, cannons and bombers to lay the planet to waste, and for the next five standard hours the planet had burned, its cities crumbling, its flora and fauna wiped out, its seas boiling away and its people burning alive. Serast had not regretted their deaths then or a day since. They had been rebels, traitors to the Empire, and their punishment had been just.

There had been some outcry over his actions in the Imperial Senate, led by Senators Mon Mothma of Chandrila, Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia and Bail and Leia Organa of Alderaan. In all, around forty Senators had voiced their opposition to Serast's actions, most of whom had also been members of the Delegation of Two-Thousand during the closing days of the Clone Wars seventeen standard years before. Most of the group had, in the intervening years, been cowed into silence, convinced of the Empire's ideology or culled. But there were still a few who openly dissented. Leia Organa of Alderaan, for one.

Serast was well acquainted with Organa, having met her many times. The first time she had been a small girl on her peaceful homeworld of Alderaan. Even then she had shown a remarkable talent for debate and diplomacy, able to argue the details of the Imperial political system with him for well over an hour. Back then he had been confident that the young girl would grow up to be one of the most important allies of Emperor Palpatine in the Senate, but she had instead proved to be one of his most vocal, yet wily, opponents. She had never openly criticised the Emperor or demanded his abdication, but she had always made her feelings toward him and his rule perfectly clear all the same. Once, early in her career, Mas Amedda, the Emperor's Chagrian advisor, had attempted to shout her down but she had outdone him, cementing her reputation forever as a brilliant speaker and highly gifted politician. Her opposition to the Empire was entirely due to the views of her mother and father, Serast knew. She had been born only days into the New Order's existence and should, by all rights, have become a fanatical Imperialist through the education system. But Bail Organa had avoided this by having her privately tutored and the girl had become a staunch anti-Imperialist, like her father, longing for the days of the Galactic Republic.

Serast's musings were interrupted by the sound of his holocommunicator, its ringing signifying that he had a call. He answered immediately and stopped dead in his tracks, forcing two white-uniformed officers of the Intelligence Security Bureau to swerve quickly in their step to avoid knocking into him.

From out of the holocommunicator materialised the small, blue, shimmering likeness of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, the second-most-powerful man in the Empire. He had outranked even Darth Vader while the cyborg had been alive, and presumably now outranked Lord Starkiller as well. Serast was glad of this. The Sith had far too much power in an Empire that had, ostensibly, wiped out the Jedi. While the Jedi and the Sith might themselves draw distinction from one another, Serast and indeed the majority of beings did not. Both the Sith and the Jedi drew on seemingly magical powers to assert their dominance over others and used this power to demand respect from the galaxy. Their sorcerer's tricks were the basis of their power and Serast hated them for it. He had hated the Jedi, and had rejoiced at the failure of their rebellion at the end of the Clone Wars. Yes, it was true that a few of the Order had escaped, including living legends like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Grand Master Yoda, but he estimated that perhaps fifty Jedi now lived where once there had been tens of thousands. And now Serast hated the Sith with as burning a passion. He had hoped that Darth Vader's death would mean a step closer to the Sith's destruction, but Lord Starkiller had soon stepped in to fill the vacuum of power.

"Yes, Grand Moff Tarkin?" Serast asked the hologram in his palm, careful to show the Grand Moff all proper respect.

"Admiral Serast," the elder man greeted him, "I would speak with you. Are you alone."

"I am," Serast replied. When an Admiral was asked whether or not they were alone, the presence of Stormtroopers and ship crew was generally not included. Only the presence of other Admirals, Moffs or holders of higher rank was considered.

"There is an urgent matter we must discuss," the Grand Moff said, curling his bony fingers beneath his equally bony chin as he did so. This was a mannerism of Tarkin that Serast had learned to associate with machinations and scheming. It also meant that he was going to take an infuriatingly long time to tell Serast precisely what he had called him about.

"What is it?" Serast asked politely, trying anything to make this exchange hasten. Tarkin had a sinister quality about him that inspired both loathing and fear in Serast. He had never been able to quite place his finger on what it was about Tarkin that he feared. Perhaps it was his sheer power within the Empire and the ability that this gave him to make or break Serast with a single word. Perhaps it was his brilliant, calculating mind that was, it seemed, everywhere at once, strategising and plotting political manoeuvres more complex than a spider's web. Or perhaps it was simply his cold, staring eyes.

"There are matters we must discuss," Tarkin responded, his tone one of cold efficiency and professionalism, the model Imperial. One of Tarkin's great sources of pride was his unwavering loyalty to Emperor Palpatine and to the New Order that had ushered in. Even now, seventeen years after the birth of the Empire, he would oft quote the Emperor's Declaration of a New Order whenever the slightest questioning of it was voiced in his presence. Serast had never been so foolish as to question the Empire himself – he could find no faults in the New Order – but he had seen Tarkin respond to dissent. It was a frightening sight to behold, and Serast was never sure who had scared him more; Vader or Tarkin.

"What is it, sir?"

"Threats to Lord Starkiller's life. And to the Emperor's." Tarkin said the words with complete calm, as though he had replied with a comment on Lord Starkiller's opinion on the weather on Naboo, but Tarkin's sentence filled Serast with a cold dread. Threats to a Sith Lord's life could end in the execution of hundreds of officials, and the holders of high rank almost always got caught up in the power plays of their peers. If one of the Moffs or Grand Moffs was plotting to assassinate Lord Starkiller and the Emperor, then Serast was in great danger.

It struck Serast as odd that Tarkin had given him this warning. Tarkin rarely spoke to Serast outside the meeting rooms that they sometimes shared, and once Serast had been invited to a party at Tarkin's estate on Eriadu. But they were barely even acquaintances, let alone friends, and in the vornskr-eat-vornskr world of Imperial politics Tarkin stood to gain little and lose much by protecting rivals.

But then, Serast realised, Tarkin would not have warned him had he not already considered all of the possible results and repercussions. He clearly still had some part to play in Tarkin's schemes, whatever they were.

"What threats?" he asked. "And from whom?"

"There is a conspiracy brewing against the New Order itself," Tarkin replied. "As loyal servants of His Majesty, it is our duty to root out the traitors and bring them to justice."

"Is this the Alliance?" Serast inquired. For the last three standard months, a group calling themselves the Alliance to Restore the Republic had begun small-scale terrorist attacks on Imperial worlds and facilities. For the moment they were as flies biting a ronto, but if left unchecked Serast knew that they had the potential to cause the Empire real difficulties.

"We are, as yet, uninformed." Tarkin's voice carried just the merest hint of anger at the lack of intelligence he had, but Serast pretended not to notice. "I will patch you into our conference." Tarkin pressed some buttons that Serast could not see, and the hologram before him grew larger. Within seconds it had expanded to show the interior of Tarkin's conference room aboard the Death Star. Though the station was still under construction, Tarkin's quarters appeared to be complete. Also sat round the table, all of them appearing as holograms to Serast, though he had no way of knowing who was with Tarkin in person and who was not, were a collection of some of the finest and highest-ranked officials in the Empire. White-haired and moustached Wullf Yularen, a colonel in the ISB, sat stoically in the corner, while next to him, on the left, sat the firebrand Grand Moff Bartam, governor of Coruscant itself. Even more of a cyborg than Darth Vader had been, only Bartam's face was still exposed for the eyes of others to see. His body was entirely encased inside a metal sphere that hovered several feet above the floor. Serast knew better than to discount Bartam, however; his body might be all but destroyed but his mind was intact, and he might even have rivalled Tarkin in his acumen for planning and scheming.

On Yularen's right was sat Bartam's fellow cyborg, Grand Moff Trachta, governor of the Imperial Centre Oversector. During the Clone Wars, a rogue Jedi had destroyed Trachta's eyes, arms and respiratory system with a thermal detonator. All of these had been replaced with terrifying cybernetics. Trachta's arms were shining durasteel, connected to his nervous system so that he could control the limbs, while his eyes had been replaced with glowing scarlet orbs, more terrible than even the Emperor's eyes, which glared yellow. It was the camera in the back of Trachta's head, however, that most worried Serast whenever he met the Grand Moff. Trachta literally had an eye in the back of his head, making it much harder to keep a secret whenever he was around. Most striking, however, was the triangular breathing mask, placed where the mouth would be on a healthy human, with respiratory tubes leading from the mask down Trachta's back and into his body to mechanical lungs. His breathing, similar to Darth Vader's or Lord Starkiller's, was loud and rhythmic. It was Trachta who greeted Serast.

"Admiral Serast." Trachta's voice sounded almost completely human, except that there was a slight metallic undertone to it. The greeting was a simple courtesy but more than any of the other men had offered him. Serast nodded in thanks.

"Grand Moff."

Sat on Trachta's right-hand side was Moff Kadir, the only man in the room that Serast did not have to pander to. Blonde-haired and squat-nosed, Kadir was the commander of the Coruscant Security Force and, as such, was responsible for protecting the Imperial capital world from terrorist attacks of any and all forms, including the attempted assassination of high-ranking officials. Although it fell to the Royal and Shadow Guard to physically protect the Emperor, they were only used if Kadir had failed in his job. Thus far, Kadir had never failed. If he had, Serast doubted very much that he would still be alive.

"Gentlemen," began Tarkin, his lined face etched with domineering confidence, "we are here to discuss a very grave and serious matter. Colonel Yularen has intercepted transmissions that indicate a plot to overthrow the Emperor and Lord Starkiller. We, as loyal servants of His Majesty and of his New Order, must do everything in our considerable power to halt the plans of these rebellious traitors." To a uniformed aide, Tarkin said, "Play the transmission."

Serast listened as a wave of static came over the hologram. At first he thought that it was a problem with the holocommunicator, but then he heard, faintly, a voice. It was indistinguishable voice and could have been anyone, so obscured was it by the static.

" ….. and then we c ….. the Empire … kill the Emp ….. and Lor … iller …"

The transmission ended. It had been only a few seconds long, but it had left nobody in any doubt of the intentions of who sent it, and of who they had sent it to. The room was silent for a moment, save for the sound of Trachta's mechanical lungs. Eventually, Yularen spoke.

"Do we know where this transmission was sent to and from, Grand Moff Tarkin?"

"Regrettably not," Tarkin replied. "Whoever sent this message encrypted with a code that Imperial Intelligence has never encountered before."

Yularen's eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Serast understood the tiny gesture. Imperial Intelligence was the great rival of the ISB and Yularen clearly believed that Imperial Intelligence's inferiority to his own organisation was to blame for their failure.

"Allow the Security Bureau to analyse the transmission, Grand Moff, I implore you."

"You have my permission, colonel." Tarkin acceded to Yularen's request as easily and casually as if Yularen had asked to borrow a pen. "Work hastily. We do not know when these traitors might strike. Uncover the transmission's full contents, point of origin and recipient. And above all, find out whose voice that was. That will be a significant step in putting down this insurrection."

"Of course, Grand Moff."

"I will alert the oversector fleet," intoned Trachta. "We will impose a blockade around the entirety of the Centre Oversector, so that no ship will pass our Star Destroyers without our knowledge and permission."

"The Coruscant garrison will be placed on the highest alert," Bartam assured the room. "The Stormtroopers will patrol every street night and day."

"And I will alert the Royal Guard," promised Kadir, sweeping a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. "The Emperor must be made aware of this threat."

"Excellent," said Tarkin, looking around at the men. "In that case, you are dismissed, gentlemen."

Serast was just about to turn off his holocommunicator, wondering vaguely why he had been asked to join that meeting, when Tarkin addressed him directly.

"Not you, Admiral. I would speak with you further."

Dutifully, Serast kept the holocommunicator switched on. Tarkin pressed buttons on his computer console and the hologram shrank once more, so that only Tarkin was visible.

"With respect, Grand Moff-" Serast began.

"Your role in stopping this attack must be kept a secret from all others, Admiral Serast," Tarkin said, his tone making it very clear to Serast that the following words would be of the utmost importance. "I am assigning you, your ship and your crew to Death Squadron."

Serast was shocked. Death Squadron was Lord Starkiller's personal fleet of Star Destroyers and the accompaniment of the _Executor _herself. To be appointed to it was seen as a great honour and the fast path to promotion. Already and Admiral in the Imperial Navy, Serast would not be able to climb much higher, but he dreamed of one day wearing the white uniform of a Grand Admiral and this might just prove to be his chance.

"What would have you me do once I rendezvous with Lord Starkiller, Grand Moff?" Serast asked, intrigued to know what his part would be in the counterinsurgency.

"You will warn Lord Starkiller of the threat and protect him," Tarkin ordered. "If I were you, Admiral, as a friendly warning, do not be obvious in your protection. Lord Starkiller must not feel as though you are patronising him, or it could lead to very serious consequences for you."

Serast nodded, understanding all too well what Tarkin was getting at.

"Of course not, sir. I will be the picture of discretion."

"Good." Tarkin's approval was evident. "I have every confidence in you, Admiral. Do not disappoint me. Tarkin out." The hologram flickered and then faded, leaving Serast to ponder the implications of all that he had just heard. His hatred of the Sith was intense, and he would be lying if he claimed that some part of him did not support these would-be assassins in their attempt to end the influence of mysticism and superstition over the Empire. On the other hand, he was loyal above all things and had never said or done anything against the wishes of his superiors.

He strode over to the nearest communications module and activated the bridge's channel.

"Captain Berrus," he said over the intercom system. "Take us to Kuat. Grand Moff Tarkin has assigned us to Death Squadron."

"Very good sir," replied Berrus, a young but gifted graduate of the Naboo Imperial Academy. "Preparing for lightspeed."

Serast stood in the corridor, hands clasped behind his back and head held high with pride as he felt the ship lurch forward into the boundless expanse of space.


	4. Chapter Three - A Rival

**Chapter Three**

**A Rival**

The _Rogue Shadow II _was Darth Starkiller's personal starship. Essentially the same as the original, the _Rogue Shadow II_ was a heavily modified Imperial transport, designed and constructed by Sienar Fleet Systems. It was possessed of a hyperdrive, laser cannons and a cloaking device so advanced that it was capable of rendering the _Shadow _all but invisible. Starkiller piloted the ship himself, with the assistance of a very old droid that had been presented to him the day his apprenticeship under Sidious had commenced. The droid was designated as 11-4D, and had stored within its memory banks a wealth of knowledge about Darth Sidious, all of his apprentices, and even on Sidious' own master, Darth Plagueis. Plagueis, it appeared, had taken ownership of the droid after slaughtering its previous owners, a crew of small-time smugglers, and had kept it for the rest of his life – some thirty standard years – before Sidious had inherited the droid following his murder of Plagueis on the eve of his ascension to the post of Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic thirty standard years before taking Starkiller as his apprentice. The droid had even borne witness to the commencement of Sidious' apprenticeship under Plagueis, and had been present at almost every major event in the lineage of the Sith in the last sixty standard years.

Starkiller resented the droid, however. 11-4D served as a painful reminder of PROXY, the holodroid that had been Starkiller's only friend throughout his hard childhood under Vader. The droid had been obsessed with killing him, but Starkiller had known that this was only as a result of its programming. In the end, PROXY had, in the guise of Obi-Wan Kenobi, thrown himself before Darth Vader in order to save Starkiller's life, and had been run through by the former Dark Lord.

"We are approaching the Deep Core, Lord Starkiller," the droid intoned. "Might I ask which system is our destination?"

Starkiller never shared too much with 11-4D, fearing that the droid was Sidious' spy. It was a perfectly reasonable suspicion, and Starkiller was always very careful what he said around the droid. Instead of replying, he reached toward 11-4D and powered the machine down. He would not reactivate 11-4D until his mission was complete.

Starkiller punched the coordinates of the Tythos System into the ship's navacomputer, and the ship lurched into a hyperjump. Hyperspace travel in the Deep Core was extremely risky; the mass of black holes in the heart of the galaxy could cause hyperlanes to collapse momentarily, and even though this usually only occurred for a nanosecond any ship that was unfortunate enough to be using the hyperlane in that nanosecond would be instantly and completely disintegrated, ripped apart particle by particle by the immense gravity of a black hole.

As the _Rogue Shadow II _emerged from hyperspace, almost exactly forty thousand kilometres from the planet Tython's atmosphere, Starkiller let out a breath that he did not even know he had been holding. The Force had kept the hyperlanes open for him, and it intended him to come here.

Starkiller assumed manual control of the _Shadow_, steering it himself toward Tython. The world loomed before him, a great sphere that grew continuously until it filled Starkiller's vision. He sensed the immense power of the Force emanating from the world; hardly surprising, given that Tython had birthed the Jedi Order and, indirectly through the twists and turns of history, the Sith Order as well – though Starkiller himself believed that the true homeworld of the Sith Order was the Outer Rim world of Korriban, in the Estraan Sector of the Stygian Caldera.

Within moments of entering the Tythos system, the _Shadow _had penetrated Tython's atmosphere, and was already descending, soaring over vast stretches of land as it did so. Starkiller could see from the ship the shadowed form, far away, of what he knew to be the ancient fortress of Belia Darzu, an ancient Shi'ido Sith Lord. However, that was not Starkiller's destination.

The _Shadow _continued to descend quickly, and soon Starkiller saw his true goal appear on the ever-shifting horizon. Tall despite its ruined state, sprawling and radiating with the Force, the ancient Jedi Temple had drawn Starkiller across the stars, luring him with the promise of secrets long forgotten. The Temple had served as the bastion of the Jedi following the Great Galactic War, their refuge from a hostile galaxy. With the Treaty of Corsucant that had brought the war to its end the Sith Empire had, undeniably, emerged superior. For this, the bitter Republic had blamed the Jedi, and in response the Order retreated to Tython, secluding themselves until fresh hostilities broke out. In the next war, the Republic had managed to defeat the Sith and the Jedi had once again been hailed as the saviours and guardians of peace and justice. They had rebuilt their temple on Coruscant, destroyed by the Sith at the conclusion of the Great War, and Tython had been abandoned. Belia Darzu had occupied the planet some two-hundred standard years before the rise of Darth Bane, and the planet had once again known notoriety in galactic history when it had played host to one of the most important conflagrations in the history of the Sith. Darth Bane and Darth Zannah, their existence revealed to the Jedi Order after a decade of hiding, had successfully fought against five Jedi and managed, through a cunning ruse, to keep the Jedi ignorant of their continued existence. Starkiller was not a historian, and had not studied the history of the Sith, the Jedi or the galaxy at large in any great detail but he had learned this much about Tython, and the world intrigued him. He was eager to see the world that had birthed understanding of the Force and to walk where ancient Jedi and Sith had walked.

And there was a presence on Tython, strong in the Dark Side of the Force. Starkiller did not recognise it, but could tell that whoever it was had also sought the Temple. He set the _Shadow _down on the open ground beside the ancient structure and, his lightsaber ready in his hand, he ventured inside.

The Jedi Temple was a husk, empty of all life. Skeletons of humans and countless other species, not all of which Starkiller recognised, littered the fungus-covered ground. Starkiller suspected that these were the remains of treasure seekers and sub-standard Jedi who had fallen victim to the inevitable traps inside the Jedi's one-time fortress. A Neimoidian had fallen prey to blaster fire, while the skeleton of what Starkiller guessed to be a Nautolan had been felled by a lightsaber. Crude, rusted spikes of metal had pierced the torso of a Gran and a small, manmade landslide had crushed the life out of an unfortunate Talortai. All of the traps and remains looked to Starkiller to be many centuries old, and he knew instinctively that, over the millennia since the Temple's abandonment, all of its traps had been activated.

Darth Starkiller pressed deeper into the ruins, the Force granting him visions of the Temple's past. All around him the spectres of ancient Jedi appeared as they did in life, training, meditating and defending their sanctuary from Flesh Raiders, the hostile natives of Tython.

_"Master Varn, we must speak!"_

_"Meditate on the Force, Padawan, and it will divulge to you its secrets."_

_ "The Sith would never dare attack Tython. Our greatest masters are here."_

Starkiller paid none of this heed, instead striding on past the echoes of the long dead. The intricacies of the Force and its ability to recall events from eons past did not intrigue him. He was not a Sith Sorcerer, like Sidious, but rather a juggernaut of the Dark Side. He relied on brute strength and superior fighting ability to win his battles, not detailed knowledge of the Force, and he blasted aside the Force echoes as if they were nothing more than a flock of Seylott flies. The images dissipated as Starkiller directed his mental efforts into disrupting them, cutting the Force off as it flowed through the empty halls and channelling it into himself, strengthening both his mind and his body.

The presence drew closer as Starkiller neared the old Council Chamber. He could sense the Dark Side radiating from the long deserted room, a pit of blackness inside a ruin that, though fading, was still a beacon of the Light. Starkiller entered the chamber, his clearly audible breathing giving him away. In the gloom he could not see the other being, but knew that they were aware of his presence. He doubted that they could see him either, but he could sense their apprehension, their fear and their anger at being disturbed.

"You should not have come here."

The voice was feminine and quiet, but full of both confidence and malice. Starkiller did not recognise it, but that was no barrier to what the words and the manner of delivery had told him. The speaker was willing to fight – after all, they had as good as threatened him – and they were sure of their own ability to defeat him in a fight. Starkiller might not be as well practiced as Vader had been, but his reputation as an absolutely deadly fighter was already known throughout the galaxy, aided and abetted by the efforts of the Empire's propaganda machine.

"I sense fear in you," Starkiller told his unknown opponent, hoping to unearth her deepest weaknesses. "Uncertainty, conflict."

"You know nothing!" the woman spat back, her anger at Starkiller's words evident both in her tone of voice and in the surge of the Dark Side inside her as she spoke. "I will defeat you, and when you lie slain at my feet I will take your place beside the Emperor and rule the galaxy alongside him as his apprentice."

So she was a rival, one who would usurp Starkiller and attempt to learn the secrets of the Dark Side from Darth Sidious. Starkiller had sensed the presence of many such beings in the galaxy, and even met some of them, but had never engaged one in a battle to the death, as this would be. Readying himself for the inevitable engagement, he summoned the Dark Side to him, calling on its power to augment his mind and body still further and tapping into his anger and hate to fuel it. He could sense his opponent doing the same thing and knew that it would be only moments before one of them made a move.

It was the unknown woman who acted first. Two crimson blades lit up the darkened room like fire, and Starkiller could see her clearly. She was lithe, pale-skinned and bald. She looked to be a Rattataki but Starkiller could see that her eyes were blue, where Rattataki eyes came in varying shades of white and grey. She twirled her twin blades about her in elaborate movements, creating two ever-moving protective walls which Starkiller's single blade would find it difficult to penetrate. Looking forward to the fight to come, Starkiller activated his own lightsaber and leapt forward. The strength and suddenness of his attack had previously won Starkiller duels in the first few moments, but this woman was clearly well versed in such methods and brought up both of her blades to block the assault. Even so, Starkiller's two-handed method, and strength enhancing cybernetics, meant that he was far stronger than his enemy, and the pale woman was forced to leap backward lest she be forced onto her back by Starkiller's initial onslaught. She flipped backward, spinning twice in the air before landing lightly on her feet in the far corner of the room. Starkiller leapt forward himself, eager to press the attack, but at the last moment realised that he had been trapped. Aided by the Force, the woman sped away from the corner she had occupied in the second before Starkiller's lightsaber crashed down into the space she had been in. She ran a ring around Starkiller and was at his back even as he turned to face her, his surprise at the speed of her movement throwing him off balance.

They exchanged blows, three ruby blades humming and crashing together. The curved hilts of the woman's lightsabers were unusual to Starkiller, and more than once she managed to score hits that, on a being not entirely cased in protective armour, would have cut deep into living tissue. But even with her speed and the advantage of her unusual weaponry, Starkiller was giving as good as he was getting. He randomly employed all seven forms of lightsaber combat, ensuring that the bald woman would never know how he was going to attack her. She herself seemed to be a master of the Jar'Kai variety of Makashi, which had prevalent in the days when lightsaber duels had been a more common occurrence. With the end of the New Sith Wars with the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, however, the Jedi and Sith had hardly ever locked blades with each other, and even though were still Dark Jedi in the galaxy whom the Jedi would take it upon themselves to battle, they never posed enough of a threat to warrant the Makashi style retaining its place of importance. Now, however, the woman's unusual fighting style was proving to be to her advantage, and she was easily deflecting and countering Starkiller's attacks, even as he dodged, parried and countered her own. The two seemed evenly matched. She was faster but weaker, while Starkiller was slower but much stronger. Starkiller could sense that he was stronger in the Force and had twice attempted to use his power with Force Lightning to subdue his opponent. However, she had defended herself ably both times, the first time by absorbing the violet bolts into her blood red blades and the second time by simply leaping out of their path.

Gradually, however, Starkiller was able to learn her fighting technique, and identified her main weakness. This woman wanted desperately to be a Sith, so much so that she had learned how to fight and dress like a Sith. But these were things that could be imitated, and she was no true Sith. Darth Starkiller was the only true Sith in the room, and he used that knowledge to push forward and assault his opponent's defence with vicious lunges and sweeps, utilising the aggressive technique of the Djem So. In response, the pale woman was forced to continuously give ground, and Starkiller gradually forced her to fight on his terms, moving only when he allowed her to and only able to defend against his unrelenting force rather than mount her own attack.

That was until she gambled everything on a single leap. The woman soared over Starkiller's head and landed behind him, on the far side of the room. As Starkiller registered what had occurred and turned to face her, the woman had connected her twin lightsabers together and now wielded a double-bladed lightsaber, its handle a unique s shape. Even as Starkiller wondered how best to counter this new threat, the woman advanced, slowly, her blades spinning about her once more, throwing up an all but impenetrable wall of defence. However, Starkiller could sense that his enemy was tiring. If he could draw the battle out for just a little longer, he would have an unassailable advantage. He played his enemy, therefore, merely toying with her defences with half-hearted attacks and feint assaults, goading her to anger. He could sense the emotion building inside the woman and before long she abandoned her defence and attacked with wide, sweeping slashes which left her open to a well-placed lightsaber blade. And Starkiller, never one to pass up a good opportunity, brought his own glowing red weapon to within an inch of the woman's neck before decapitating her with a quick, smooth slash.

With that, the duel ended. The woman's head flew through the air with the force of Starkiller's attack and rolled as it landed on the floor, its face permanently set in a look of pain and anger. At the same time, her body collapsed to the floor and her lightsaber deactivated and dropped her hand. Starkiller summoned the unique weapon to him and, savouring his victory, tucked it inside his belt, along with the other lightsabers he had captured during his life. Rahm Kota, Kazdan Paratus, Shaak Ti, Maris Brood and many others had all lost their weapons to Starkiller, and now the unknown woman had joined that group of beings.

Starkiller picked up his opponent's bald head in his clawed fingers, examining the face. He did not recognise her but resolved to research the woman who had proved such a challenge the next time he had access to the Imperial Records. Taking the head with him, Starkiller stalked back through the empty, dark, still halls of the Jedi Temple, which stood as though nothing had transpired within its walls, and returned to the _Shadow_. Piloting it up and out of the planet's atmosphere, Starkiller thought on the woman whose life he had just ended, and the wider implications of what had just occurred.

As he piloted the ship out of the Tythos System Starkiller reactivated 11-4D. It was against his better judgement but Starkiller had a hunch that the droid would know who the woman he had just fought was, as though the Force were giving him a clue.

"Do you know who this is, droid?" Starkiller asked as he pulled out the head for 11-4D to observe.

"Indeed I do, sir," the droid replied immediately. "This is the head of Asajj Ventress, a former member of the Dark Acolyte organisation during the Clone Wars."

That made sense, Starkiller reflected. The Dark Acolytes had been tutored in lightsaber combat and application of the Dark Side of the Force by Darth Tyranus himself, and he had been almost without equal in such matters. Indeed, only Darth Sidious had surpassed him. He had also been one of the most proficient masters of the Makashi duelling style that the galaxy had ever known, and this had reflected in Ventress' fighting prowess inside the Temple. Why Ventress had not attacked him with the Force during their duel Starkiller could not say, but it was not a question that he was ever likely to discover the answer to. Instead he turned his attention to the computer terminal on the wall beside him and looked up a list of Tyranus' Dark Acolytes, attempting to discover which of them were still alive and which were likely to present him with future challenges.


	5. Chapter Four - Murder in 500 Republica

**Chapter Four**

**Murder in 500 Republica**

To the galactic community Corsucant seemed to be the shining example of prosperity. A sprawling metropolis covered the entire planet, with buildings rising high into the stratosphere, all run by a colossal feat of engineering that had for millennia kept the planet running. The upper levels of the planet's cityscape were the picture of wealth, decadence and success. The apartments of 500 Republica, in particular, were considered the very pinnacle of Coruscanti, and indeed galactic, high society. Unrivalled in their luxuriousness, their garishness and their expensiveness the apartments of 500 Republica boasted occupants including but not limited to most of the Imperial Senate and Inner Council, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, Lord Starkiller and even the Emperor himself.

Today, however, it was the centre of the newest criminal investigation of the Imperial Security Bureau, to which the Imperial capital's press had already been drawn, as scavenging lifeforms were drawn to fresh carrion. Massed barriers held them back, but their holorecorders were already hard at work, capturing everything that they could about the scene. Black-clad officers of the Imperial Centre Security Force, or the ICSF as every Corsucanti called them, stood sentinel at regular intervals along the barrier. From time to time an official of the ISB would stride past and on to the crime scene, which always elicited excited questioning from the journalists, though they were never so much as acknowledged. Each time the door to the apartment opened, even if it was just a sliver, the press would clamour to obtain holofilm footage. None were successful, the ISB having taken every care to keep them from their goal.

Inside the apartment, ISB specialists were dealing with the body, a human male in the autumn years of his life, with well-trimmed greying hair and fading brown eyes. He had obviously kept in shape, but age had begun to take its toll on his body. His skin was beginning to sag and wrinkle. But the most striking feature of the man's corpse was the large, slightly curved gash that ran diagonally from his left shoulder down to his waist. It was deep and fresh, and it was obvious to all in the room that this was the cause of his death.

Among the ISB investigators assigned to the grisly scene was Jarik Tashir. A human male in his late thirties, Tashir was possessed of a keenly inquisitive mind, a bold streak that had threatened his career with the ISB more than once, and a determination to see each case through its conclusion, even if it was closed by powers greater than himself.

Simply because of the victim's identity, however, it was unlikely that this case would be closed before it had been solved. Lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, which was also drying rapidly on his naked chest, was Count Arco Demici, who in life had been a member of the wealthy and influential House Demici of Serenno and had represented that world's system in the Imperial Senate.

"Kriff…" someone behind Jarik swore quietly as they walked into the room.

"Yeah," Jarik said, knowing that that was sufficient to answer all of the new arrival's unspoken questions. "Bodies are bad at the best of times, but the Senator of Serenno, what with all the rumours about a conspiracy to kill the Emperor…"

He left the statement to hang, unwilling to give voice to the possibilities of what they were facing. If the Senator was somehow connected with the plot, of which only scant whispers had been heard, then the matter would be taken over by the Inquisitorius and would be closed to the ISB.

"This wound is highly unusual," one of the forensic officers noted to Jarik. "I didn't think blades were that common anymore. Ninety-nine per cent of murders are committed with blasters, and most of the remaining one per cent is strangulation or suffocation. I've never seen a wound like that on a murder victim before."

"Any ideas about what caused it?" Jarik asked, eager to press on with the case.

"A very good idea," the officer replied. "We uncovered miniscule shards of phrik inside the gash. This was, more than likely a phrik blade."

Jarik was impressed. His knowledge of the Forensic Sciences Department of the ISB was sketchy at best, but he could never fault their officers or the work they performed. He could only hope that they could turn up more clues for him as to who had murdered the Count and why.

"Have we any proof that His Excellency was involved in the plot to kill the Emperor and Lord Starkiller?" he asked a member of a scanning team that was currently filing through all of the Count's computers and datapads.

"Sir, we don't even have proof that the conspiracy _exists_," the scanner pointed out without looking up from the holoterminal that he was thoroughly examining.

Jarik said nothing, unable to think of an answer to the scanner's words. While there was little evidence for it, he believed that there was indeed a plot being hatched somewhere in the higher echelons of the Imperial political nomenclature. He did not know who was involved, but he doubted that it would be long before they made their move.

His thoughts were interrupted by one of the other scanners calling over to him.

"Sir, we've found something."

Jarik walked over excitedly, eager to see the evidence that the scanner had uncovered as to why the Count had been killed. He thought for a moment that the scanner would confirm his suspicions, but the holoterminal that he had been working on showed nothing more than a bank statement on his screen.

"What's the significance of this?" Jarik asked, unable to understand why the scanner had called him over.

"Look, here," the scanner answered, pointing to a column on the screen. It showed the amount of credits that had left the Count's personal accounts over the course of one standard years, and to where it had been paid. Most of it was expected. Five-hundred credits to a tailor here or one-hundred-thousand to a shuttle salesman there. But once ever standard month the sum of five-thousand credits left the Count's account, transferred to an account in the care of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. The account was held by an organisation called Kuat Security.

"What about it?" Jarik asked. "Maybe he had a contract with Kuat Security."

"That's just it, sir," the scanner responded. "There is no such company. I ran a search on the holonet the moment I spotted it, and it simply doesn't exist. There was a faked entry on the holonet, but it didn't take much digging to uncover its fraudulence."

"So who's really behind His Excellency's fleecing?"

"From the quality of the fake, and the amount of money and personnel that they must possess to be able to pose as Kuat Security, I would guess that it would have to be a powerful criminal syndicate."

Jarik thought for a moment, mentally cycling through all the crime organisations that he knew of who were likely to be powerful and successful enough to be able to both create a private security company as a front and hold a count of Serenno to ransom.

"Black Sun?" was his first venture.

"Not Xizor's style," the scanner replied. "He wouldn't have murdered His Excellency in his apartment on Corsucant of all places."

"One of the Hutt Clans, perhaps?"

The scanner shrugged.

"Possibly, though my credits are on the Consortium."

The Zann Consortium was a relatively new criminal syndicate. Whereas Black Sun or the Hutt Cartel had existed for thousands of years, Tyber Zann had founded his criminal empire only after his expulsion from the Imperial Academy on Anaxes, and since then had secured control of the underworlds of several sectors in the Outer Rim, especially in the region of Ryloth's own location of the Gaulus Sector. He and his associate, a shadowy being about whom very little was known save for the name of Fen, had formed an alliance with the Hutt crimelord Jabba Desilijic Tiure and this alliance's success had resulted in one of the greatest spikes in crime in the last fifty standard years.

"Well whoever it is," Jarik said to the scanner, "we'll find out who they are. Keep working on finding out who's behind Kuat Security."

At that moment a loud voice announced the arrival of Grand Moff Trachta himself and everybody in the apartment hastened to stand to strict attention as the cyborg entered the room, his breathing clearly audible and his visage terrifying. He was flanked by two members of the Imperial Senate Guard, armoured in blue versions of the armour of the Shadow Guard, and armed with lightsabers.

"So the Count is dead?" The question was rhetorical, and drew no answer from the officials of the ISB. Trachta's voice was dreadful to listen to, a grating metal tone that reminded all present of Darths Vader and Starkiller. "Who is responsible?"

"We … erm … we don't know, Your Excellency," one of the white-uniformed ISB officers admitted, obviously scared, his attempts to hide his fear hopelessly failing.

"I suggest you work harder, gentlemen," Trachta commanded. "The Emperor's attention is on this murder, and you _will _give His Majesty an acceptable result."

"Yes Grand Moff," the room chorused.

"Grand Moff, if I may?" Jarik ventured. Trachta turned to stare at him with his haunting scarlet eyes.

"What is it?" he demanded, his tone making it clear to Jarik that he was in no mood to listen to anything that he considered to be a waste of time.

"Your Excellency, we have uncovered evidence that the Count was regularly giving money to a crime syndicate. Which one, we do not yet know, but likely candidates are the Hutt Cartel and the Zann Consortium."

Trachta seemed to consider Jarik's words for a moment.

"Not Black Sun?" he asked, as though making sure that Jarik had considered all of the possibilities before presenting his theory to the Grand Moff.

"We consider it to be unlikely, Excellency," Jarik replied, reiterating what the scanner had said to him mere moments earlier. "Xizor is more crafty than to murder a count of one of Serenno's oldest noble families, and a member of the Imperial Senate no less, in broad daylight in the most obvious of places."

"And neither you believe that neither the Hutts nor Zann would have been so intelligent?" Trachta was beginning to sound annoyed, and Jarik knew that if he continued to earn the Grand Moff's ire then he would very shortly be staring down the barrels of a Stormtrooper firing squad.

"I believe that they are probably more rash than Xizor, Excellency," Jarisk responded diplomatically. "Both are undeniably intelligent, but neither has ever been so subtle in their manoeuvres as Black Sun has been lately."

"The Bando Gora?" Trachta offered. "I have heard stories of late that they are reviving in the wake of Lord Vader's death. They are eager to test our new Lord Starkiller."

Jarik had not known of the revitalisation of the old Force-worshipping cult that had operated out of Kohlma, a tomb-covered moon of Bogden in the Inner Rim. Ten standard years before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, just after Emperor Palpatine's ascension to the position of Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, the cult had been wiped out by the Mandalorian bounty hunter Jango Fett and their leader, the Dark Jedi Komari Vosa, had been executed by Jedi Master Dooku, who had later gone on to be an essential cog in the Jedi Order's engineering of the Clone Wars. Prior to its fall the cult had produced a particularly potent strain of death stick, a popular drug in the criminal underworld of the galaxy, which they had used to control the minds of its members. Eventually, the cult had become a threat to the Republic, and the Jedi had stepped in. Now, however, with the Jedi exterminated it seemed that the Bando Gora was once again on the ascendancy, and Jarik would be a fool to discount them from his investigations.

"I will bear them in mind, Your Excellency," Jarik assured Trachta, who gave absolutely no sign that he had heard as he turned toward one of the scanners.

"The Bando Gora. Remember them."

"Yes, Excellency," the scanner acceded.

"Are we even sure that his payments to Kuat Security were the reason for his killing?" one of the other scanners put in. "There might have been any number of reasons."

"It seems the most likely," Jarik answered. "He made regular payments of five-thousand credits to Kuat Security on the first day of every standard month. This month he made no such payment, and now he's dead. I think that's very damning evidence."

The scanner could think of nothing to say to that, so he instead turned his attention back to the security camera feed that he was working on. So far he had been able to find nothing but static at the time of the murder, with the camera feed restored immediately afterward. He was currently using his technical skills to attempt to recover the sound from the camera. After a few minutes, Jarik heard the scanner call over to him excitedly.

"Sir!"

Jarik came over to him, with Trachta swooping in moments later, flanked by his guards.

"Have you found something?"

"I've restored sound, sir. We should be able to hear the Count's final moments even if we can't see them."

He pressed a button on the camera, and though all the holoscreen showed was blue static, sound was clearly audible.

"How did you get in here?" it was clearly the Count speaking. He sounded both outraged and scared.

"That would be telling." The second voice was deep, rasping, possibly Talortai in nature. "You owe us money, Your Excellency."

"I will not be bullied any longer," the Count said, defiantly.

"Then you will die," the other voice said simply. A moment later there was the sound of a gargling scream from the Count, and Jarik realised that he had just listened to the moment that the horrendous wound on his torso had been inflicted. He looked over at the body, lying naked in a pool of dried blood.

"Could it have been the Maladians?" Trachta asked. "They're well-known for using blades."

"If it was the Maladians then it means that somebody hired them, Your Excellency" Jarik answered the Grand Moff. "They have no agenda of their own other than the acquisition of credits."

"You will investigate the possibility of it," Trachta glanced at the rank insignia on Jarik's uniformed chest, "Lieutenant. I want this killer, and not excuses."

At that moment an aide in formal clothes hurried through the door to the apartment and came up to Trachta.

"Your Excellency," he said, standing to attention, "Grand Moff Bartam requests your presence at your earliest convenience."

Trachta was evidently irritated by this news, but he made no delay and said nothing as he strode from the room, his guards following behind him, leaving the room in a state of awe and terror.

"So now we have a Grand Moff on our case," one of the scanners said, stating the obvious and earning a glare from Jarik for it.

"If I were you," Jarik said to the scanner, "I'd be more worried about what he said regarding the Emperor's interest in this case."


	6. Chapter Five - Kursid

**Chapter Five**

**Kursid**

The _Qarvus_, Darth Sidious' personal Sith Infiltrator named for one of the great Sith Warriors of the ancient Sith Empire, sped through the atmosphere of the little-known world of Kursid. Apart from xenobiologists and cartographers, who in any case could rarely find it, the planet was of interest only to the Order of the Sith Lords, who had long used the world as the staging ground of one of its most important rites of initiation. It had been the Sith who, many standard centuries earlier, had deleted all mention of the world from Republic records, thus ensuring its continued secrecy. Located in the Esstran Sector, the planet was relatively close in galactic terms to Korriban, which had birthed many standard millennia earlier the Sith Order, under the leadership of Ajunta Pall, Xoxaan, Remulus Dreypa, Karness Muur and Sorzus Syn, who had first authored the Code of the Sith that had been adhered to by almost every Sith Lord in the following seven-thousand standard years, right down to Darth Sidious himself and the latest addition to the Order, Darth Starkiller. That the cyborg had learned the Code at Vader's feet was something that Sidious took for granted, assuming that in order to maintain the pretence that Vader had spun Starkiller about the latter's status as a Sith Lord, Vader would have taught him that most basic principle of what the Sith were. Now that he had taken Darth Vader's place within the Order of the Sith Lords, Starkiller would now be put through the Sith ritual on Kursid. Sidious had sent a message to his newest apprentice via holocommunicator summoning him to Kursid while Starkiller had been en route back to Kuat after an unknown mission that Sidious had happened to stumble across. He was pleased with his apprentice for taking the initiative and seeking out an objective on his own. He would merely have to take precautions that Starkiller's independence did not overstep the boundaries acceptable for a Sith apprentice.

No Sith before Sidious had ever troubled to uncover what the humanoid indigenes of Kursid thought of the visitors of the sky, whether they thought of them as gods, monsters of nightmare, or something in between. The indigenous humanoids were so primitive that Sidious doubted very much that they had named their planet, but in many ways they knew their place in the galaxy better than more advanced species. From what he could gleam from Sith records, Sidious knew that the Kursidans, as he had privately dubbed them, held the Sith in the highest reverence, even if they saw them as horrors. This, Sidious believed, was the future of the galaxy, all life bowing willingly before the Sith, whether out of worship or fear. Sith masters had brought their apprentices to Kursid for six standard centuries, including Darths Plagueis and Sidious around fifty standard years before Sidious' present visit. Now, it was Sidious who was continuing this Sith tradition with Darth Starkiller. Sidious would be interested to see how much the Kursidans' technology and society had advanced in the five standard decades since he had last faced them. During his own apprenticeship, Sidious had fought Kursidans wielding spears, axes, swords and bows and arrows, and had learned that only two standard centuries earlier, the Sith of that era, Darths Kardis and Tenebrous, who had gone on to be the master of Darth Plagueis, had battled Kursidans armed with curved khopeshes and shields of wicker that, despite the crudeness of their design, had, according to Darth Kardis, resisted the attack of a Force Pike. Even by then, the Kursidans had already constructed the great stone replicas of each of the Sith ships that had visited their world on the arid plateau that served as the Sith's battleground on each visit to Kursid, and had erected the totems, visible only from above, that had been outlined by removing tens of thousands of fist-sized volcanic rocks that littered the ground, the remnant of some ancient eruption of gargantuan size. That the Sith had never demanded anything but battle from the Kursidans had not stopped the primitives from attempting to appease the Lords of the Order, leaving gifts of food, sacrificial victims, what they considered to be works of art forged of materials that they clearly believed to be sacred or precious. All of these the Sith had ignored, simply waiting for the warriors of the base culture to engage them in combat.

"Come to me, apprentice," Sidious willed Starkiller through the Force, summoning him to find him at his precise location on the vast surface of Kursid. "Come to me," he repeated.

It was over nine standard hours before Sidious sensed Starkiller's presence in his vicinity, and he knew that Starkiller had felt his as well. Sidious looked up into the dark sky of Kursid, as did some of the Kursidans who had gathered to observe Sidious from what they thought to be a safe distance, at the sound of the engines of a starship coming into land. Sidious followed the progress of the _Rogue Shadow II_ as it descended, gradually gliding to a halt a few metres from the _Qarvus_. Its boarding ramp lowered and Darth Starkiller, his rasping breath loudly announcing his presence, stepped onto the surface of Kursid. He marched toward Sidious before genuflecting on one knee.

"Master."

"Rise, Lord Starkiller," Sidious commanded, and Starkiller stood. He was far taller than Sidious, but only an absolute fool would not be able to tell, even at a glance, which of them was the more powerful. "Look upon them," Sidious told his apprentice, who obeyed, observing the Kursidans who had assembled in anticipation of the events that would unfold now that the sky visitors had returned. "In six days they will test us, apprentice," Sidious informed Darth Starkiller. "Until then, let us wait."

As Sidious said, for the next six standard days the mournful call of horns disturbed the dry silences that periodically fell over Kursid and thousands of Kursidans gathered from nearby settlements to observe the inevitable spectacle.

"Remember the words of Darth Bane regarding the killing of innocents, apprentice," Sidious asked Starkiller on their final day of waiting, paraphrasing the words that Darth Plagueis had spoken to him all those years prior. "Our mission is not to bring death to all those unfit to live, but to ensure the survival of the Sith Order. We must continuously work to extend our power to encompass all of the galaxy, to unite them all under our Rule of Two. To achieve this, we will need to interact with diverse races on diverse worlds."

To ensure that the lesson regarding the abhorrence of the Sith regarding gratuitous slaughter, Sidious and Starkiller had armed themselves with Force Pikes rather than their lightsabers, which were infinitely more deadly. The weapons were familiar to the two Sith Lords; they were what both commonly used in their training exercises and were the weapons carried by Sidious' Royal Guard. They were capable of delivering an electrical shock that would overwhelm the nervous system of even a Wookiee, without causing any lasting damage.

"This test will be long and hard, Lord Starkiller," Sidious warned his cyborg apprentice, who merely nodded his understanding as he brandished his Force Pike. Across the plateau from them, hundreds of the Kursidan warriors were daubing themselves in war paint and working themselves into berserker rages in preparation for what they knew would be a hard fight. After several minutes, drums sounded and the warriors rushed forward in a great mass. As one, Sidious and Starkiller propelled themselves forward with the Force, dashing among their adversaries like nexu hunting among a herd of galoomps. They were wraiths, phantom menaces among their hapless enemies, who could only growl threateningly and attempt in vain to harm the Sith Lords with weapons no more advanced than those that Sidious and Plagueis had encountered. With taps from the Force Pikes, both Sith Lords felled many of the indigenes, both of them a blur as they moved. Sidious was, once again, impressed with Starkiller's proficiency in melee combat. His agility and reaction times were flawless, as were his technique and use of deception.

Eventually, among hundreds of twitching and unconscious forms, only one Kursidan was left standing. Sidious threw aside his Force Pike, which landed harmlessly several feet away, and pulled his electrum-handled lightsaber from inside the folds of his heavy black robe. He advanced on the warrior, who resigned himself to his fate and knelt before Sidious, who used a Force Push to knock the warrior onto his back. Then the Dark Lord sliced open the indigene's chest cavity and removed his still beating heart from behind his ribcage, which Sidious raised high above his head so that all and sundry could see his triumph, as the Kursidans who had stood at the sidelines, watching the melee, collected the shocked bodies of their warriors, and prepared to give the sole casualty a proper funeral, with a stone stele being carved and erected in his honour. Then the Kursidans would resume counting the days until the Sith's return.

Sidious placed the heart on the chest of the warrior whose body he had taken it from, as Plagueis had done when they had come to this world, and addressed Starkiller.

"Do you understand, Lord Starkiller?" the ancient human asked in his rasping voice.

"Yes, master," Starkiller replied. "We kill only those whom we must kill in order to achieve our goals."

"Very good," Sidious praised his apprentice. "Unnecessary deaths are not the way of the Sith, not anymore. Unlike some of the ancient Sith Lords, Starkiller, we are not mindless butchers driven by animalistic passion to feel a foe's blood on our flesh or to see the life and hope leave an enemy's eyes. What is the purpose of ruling over beings if we seek merely to kill them? We might as well simply enact a ritual such as Emperor Vitiate's and eradicate all life from the galaxy. Our power would be unimaginable, but what would we accomplish with it? Vitiate was a genius among the Sith, Starkiller, truly. His plots and schemes for convincing the survivors of the Great Hyperspace War that he, and he alone, could save them were brilliantly devised and executed." Sidious could not help but think of the plans that he himself had devised and carried out to convince the beings of the Republic that he was their saviour in the wake of the Clone Wars. Truly, he was the heir to the mantle of the ancient Sith. "But Vitiate today would be an anachronism," he continued, his voice growing harsh, "and his single-minded pursuit of absolute power would do nothing but hold our Order back. Power is a means to an end, not an end in itself. What good is power, Darth Starkiller, if there is nobody over which to wield it?"

"I understand, master," Starkiller assured him, and Sidious felt sincerity in his apprentice.

"Excellent. In time, Lord Starkiller, you may yourself visit this world with an apprentice of your own, and the children and grandchildren of the warriors that we have fought today will face you then. You will pass on to them the lessons that Kursid has to teach them, and perhaps a standard century from now they will return here with their own apprentice, and will do battle with this race once again. One day, many centuries from now, I believe that we will have evolved past the need for this rite, Lord Starkiller, and the Sith will instead come to Kursid to honour its indigenes for the homage they paid us long before the rest of the galaxy followed suit."

Starkiller nodded throughout Sidious' speech, and Sidious was pleased to sense complete understanding in the cyborg. He had truly made the right decision in naming Starkiller his apprentice; his skills with a lightsaber were far and beyond any that Sidious had ever seen before and his knowledge of the Force, while basic, was being built upon every day both by Starkiller's own discoveries and to lessons taught to him by Sidious. Of course, Sidious would take another apprentice, a secret apprentice, as an insurance policy against any future failing of Starkiller's, but he was confident that whoever he chose he would be able to keep them a closely guarded secret until the time came for them to battle Starkiller and decide forever who would become the inheritor of the legacy of Darth Bane and the perpetuator of the Rule of Two.


End file.
